


talking body

by blueczerny



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Drunk Sex, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Laughter During Sex, M/M, Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 19:11:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3948376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueczerny/pseuds/blueczerny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Noah's birthday, and he's decided to live vicariously through Adam for the night. Little does he know what getting Adam drunk will result in for Adam and Ronan...</p>
            </blockquote>





	talking body

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Talking Body by Tove Lo, obviously!! xoxoxoxo to all of you!!

This was all Noah’s idea, really. Today is (was? Nobody can decide and no one wants to ask) his birthday, so he broached the idea, and really- how could they say no?

And this- the fizzy drink in Adam’s hand, the buzz he’s got going- was all Noah’s idea too.

“Adam, please? It’s my birthday! I’ll just live vicariously through you, Adam. Go wild! Pretty pretty please?”

If Adam was more… well, more Ronan-like, he’d defenestrate Noah, too. But as it is, he can’t deny Noah’s argument, so. Here he is. Kindasortamaybejustalittle drunk.

“Parrish? Earth to Parrish!” comes Ronan’s voice from behind the thick vodka fog in Adam’s brain. Adam turns, and… oh. Ronan has removed his shirt. That’s… that’s quite the development. Quite the development, indeed.

“What? What is it?” Adam asks, clutching his empty glass in a white-knuckled grasp. Eyes up top, Adam. Eyes… up… top.

Ronan’s characteristic smirk is teasing him, and. Just. Christ, Adam tells himself, eyes up fucking top!

“I asked if you’d wanna dance,” Ronan says with a hint of a slur, and Adam’s eyebrows, meet Adam’s hairline.

“If I’d wanna… dance?” Adam repeats, and right away he feels stupid, but really- Ronan Lynch is asking him to dance? Really?

Ronan’s lip curls into a sneer, now, less of a smirk, and Adam’s instinct is to shy away. But the alcohol. The alcohol sort of masks that instinct, and so instead of shying away, Adam steps forward and shrugs. Just a one-shouldered shrug, a shrug of nonchalance, and that is how Adam Parrish agrees to dance with Ronan Lynch.

Noah’s taking Adam’s empty glass from him, giggling to himself and pretending to take a sip, though his eyes do look a bit sad- a fact that just barely registers in Adam’s mind before Ronan’s grabbed his hand and they are dancing- oh, they are dancing.

Adam doesn’t know the song, or any of the songs for that matter. But Ronan does, because Ronan likes shitty electro-pop. That’s something Gansey never lets him live down, but it helps right now. In this situation. Because Ronan knows how to move. And since Ronan knows how to move, it’s that much easier for Adam to follow his lead.

Over Ronan’s shoulder, Adam sees Gansey approach, a drink of an unidentifiable color in hand and connected to his pursed lips by a neon orange straw. But then Gansey shakes his head and turn away. What was that? What was that about?

Adam would, ordinarily, contemplate. But honestly, why the hell does Gansey do any of the things Gansey does?

And then. And then.

Ronan mutters under his breath. His hands have found Adam’s hips, and that’s when Adam starts to lose himself.

Blue’s somewhere nearby, because Adam can hear her giggle, but soon enough even that’s wiped away from his consciousness. Because Ronan’s hands. Are on Adam’s hips. And it feels so… it feels so. Right.

“Loosen up,” Ronan murmurs, and only because Adam’s gotten better with lip-reading can he understand the order. And, you know, it’s not that he’s not trying. He’s trying. Really, he is. This is all just so out of the norm for him. The drinking, the club, the music, the… everything. So, so out of the norm.

But the song shifts, and Adam’s actually heard this one. While riding around with Ronan, okay, but still. He’s heard this one, a few times, and that makes this all a little easier.

And Adam’s hands find Ronan’s hips.

Ronan’s usual smirk, it’s morphing now- into an actual (really?! Yes, really!) grin, all slightly crooked but perfectly Colgate-white teeth. So Adam’s heart starts to pound. Well, even more so.

As Ronan’s hands drift a bit farther south, the left slips into Adam’s back pocket and the right… the right yanks Adam’s hips closer to his own, and. Oh. Fuck. That feels even more right. If that’s even possible, at this point.

A shaky exhale on Adam’s part, a low laugh on Ronan’s. The beat of the music is picking up, working up to the summit, and the sweat that rolls down Ronan’s naked chest, his neck, his shoulders, it should maybe not be as attractive as it is? But it is. It so is.

Which is when Adam gets a bit… ballsy, so to speak.

He’s got this sudden thought: What if?

And now that the thought is there, he’s got to know. He’s got to know the answer.

Adam’s hands take opposite routes. The left skims up Ronan’s spine, his fingertips juuust grazing the vertebrae, and oh. The shiver this elicits from the Lynch boy. Totally worth the doing.

The right hand? That one travels a bit lower, until it’s… it’s…

“Fuck, Parrish,” Ronan hisses, and it’s only because Adam’s leaned in close without realizing that he can hear the curse and his name in their usual combination (though the context is, admittedly, quite different from the norm).

“Yeah?” Adam says with a breathless laugh, before Ronan’s teeth have found Adam’s throat, and before Ronan’s lips are traveling up Adam’s neck, and before Ronan’s biting down firmly onto the spot riiight below Adam’s good ear.

“Yeah, Parrish. Adam. What do you say we get out of here?”

And that’s all it takes. That’s all it takes for Adam to give in.

With burgeoning enthusiasm, Adam’s tugging on Ronan’s hand. Or, well. His wrist. Adam’s work-weathered fingers encircle Ronan’s surprisingly slender wrist, and he’s tugging Ronan away from the crowd. Away from the dance floor. Away.

“Hey! You two! Where ya going?”

That’s Blue speaking. Adam has to tell himself that that’s Blue speaking. Because honestly, his thoughts are nowhere near Blue in this moment. His thoughts are all RonanbathroomnowfuckpleaseRonannowplease. And maybe this comes across in the slightly panicked look Adam gives Blue, wide eyes and raised eyebrows, because she nods in a knowing way, a way that would be incredibly annoying, supremely obnoxious, even, if Adam was anything other than drunk.

Blue shakes her head and laughs a little before holding her hands up like she’s… what, surrendering? Something, but Adam could not care less. Because there’s the bathroom, and Ronan’s been stumbling along with Adam willingly, and Adam’s using one work-boot-clad foot to kick the grimy door open.

And there. There they are. There they are.

Ronan’s sound of mind enough to thumb the lock on the door so no one can interrupt this… this. And Adam’s glad, because he’s. He’s pushed Ronan up against the door and kissed him. Kissed him hard.

Ronan breaks away from this rough affection just long enough to give Adam an “is this really happening do you really want this because God knows I do so please just say yes” look.

Adam says yes. Of course Adam says yes.

So Ronan kisses first this time, but Adam quickly takes over, pressing as close as he possibly can to the Lynch boy. His Lynch boy. Because in this moment, Ronan is his. Ronan, the back of whose head just slammed against the door with a resounding thud. Ronan, who breaks away from the kiss, laughing, to rub his hand over the (probably) already blooming knot. Ronan, who’s shaking his head and muttering, “You fucknut, that hurt.”

“Sorry,” Adam whispers, and twirls his finger a little, a gesture that means Hey, turn around, I’m gonna kiss it better.

And he does, once Ronan’s faced away from him. He presses a ghost of a kiss to the bruised spot on the back of Ronan’s head, a quiet alcohol-infused laugh bubbling from his throat as he does it.

But that’s not all.

Adam’s lips continue their journey, now firmly planted in the region of Ronan’s neck. The nape gets extra attention, then further further further, curving a bit to the left so Ronan’s shoulder doesn’t get jealous. And a cautious bite to the crook where Ronan’s neck and shoulder are wed. Adam would like to leave his mark, but… is that even allowed?

Ah, fuck it. If it wasn’t allowed before, it is now. And by the way Ronan’s muscles tense, the way his hand grips fruitlessly at the metal of the door, Adam can tell he’s not about to complain.

A heavy knock on the door. A police knock, as Blue and Noah once dubbed it. Ronan jumps, his back now ramrod straight and Adam falls back in surprise and-

Gansey’s voice: “Use protection, kiddies!”

Adam rubs his face with both hands as Ronan turns around, that crooked white grin making another appearance.

“What?” he teases, stepping forward, cocking his head to the side. Draping his arms around Adam’s shoulders and flicking his tongue along his own lower lip.

“Gansey’s dumb,” Adam murmurs. “And you’re…”

“I’m?”

“... drunk,” Adam finishes, though whether that’s what he’d originally intended to say is up for debate.

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Well, now, you’re just a regular Sherlock Holmes, arentcha?”

And Adam can practically feel his cheeks flush red, and he goes, “Don’t call me that, Ronan. Just turn around again, would you?”

Ronan obliges. But not before retorting, “Careful, Parrish. Your accent is showing.”

For that, Adam waits. Ronan counts the seconds as they tick by, tantalizing and slow.

One. (Adam steps back, running his hands through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it in sweet, sweet agony as he takes in Ronan’s unclothed back. Muscles just below skin. Black ink. A sheen of sweat. Goosebumps all over.)

Two. (Adam steps forward again, drawing in a slow, shaky breath.)

Three. (Ronan drops his head forward. Waiting. Waiting.)

Four.

Adam’s hands, they connect with Ronan’s skin at his sides, an inch or two below his shoulder blades. They hover there, as if asking permission. Christ, Parrish, must you always ask permission? But the goosebumps are still there, and that’s how Adam wants it, so he skims his hands down. Down. Down Ronan’s sides. To his waist. To his hips.

Again, Adam’s lips find Ronan’s neck. But this time is different. This time they continue their travels. Down, inch by inch, freckle by freckle, and Ronan shivers. Again.

Now on his knees, Adam tugs on one of Ronan’s belt loops. Hey. Turn around.

Ronan does.

And Adam’s looking up at him, all thick eyelashes and sleepy gaze, and Ronan is utterly, definitely, irrevocably sprung.

Furrowing his brows, Adam pulls his gaze away, focusing, now, on the present task at hand: Ronan’s stupid belt. His drunk fingers fumble the little latch, and he thinks that he should be better at this, surely he should be better at this, until Ronan laughs and decides to help out.

“God, could you be any more useless?” he teases, and now his belt is tossed to the side, the metal latch clanging against the bottom of the sink.

Another. Fucking. Police knock.

Ronan’s head falls back, his eyes squeezed shut but his face to the ceiling, as he groans and says, “What is it, Dick?”

But it isn’t Gansey this time. No, it can’t be. Because Gansey would never slide this under the door. This being a clear-wrapped, glow-in-the-dark, glittery goddamn condom.

“NOAH?” Adam exclaims as he reaches for the small packet, holding it up and peering at it as his cheeks are, surely, red once again.

Surprisingly, though, Ronan takes it in stride, deftly snatching the packet away with a not-really-joking “Mine.”

And that’s how Adam finds himself being pulled to his feet and pushed back and into the single stall. That’s how Adam finds Ronan going full vampire, his Colgate-white teeth sinking into the tender flesh of Adam’s neck and oh, now his shoulder and god, now his collarbone and…

“‘sokay, right?” Ronan mumbles, and Adam almost misses it, almost misses the brief moment of caution. But he heard it, in the end, and realizes that Ronan is only asking because Adam made a noise. A noise of utmost pleasure at the feel of teeth scraping his collarbone and lips kissing his collarbone and teeth and lips joining forces to leave. Many. Marks.

Adam’s nodding, nodding quick, and his head falls back just as Ronan’s did before, only instead of the door Adam’s head collides with the wall of the stall with a resounding clang. But he can’t even be bothered with the pain, because Ronan’s hands are on another journey. This time to get rid of Adam’s shirt.

Willing is not a strong enough word for when Adam raises his arms above his head to aid in Ronan’s mission, and he doesn’t even care that his shirt is now on the questionably grimy floor of the questionably grimy bathroom in the questionably grimy club. Adam just really does not care. Because he’s shirtless, now, and of course Ronan’s been shirtless this whole time, and now they match. They match.

Hips to hips and chest to chest, now. That’s what’s going on here, and neither of the boys can complain. Neither of them would want to complain. Not about this. Not in a million years.

The kisses come rough and quick and frenzied, lips and teeth and necks and jaws and shoulders and just. All of the above, and everything in between.

Adam’s thigh is between both of Ronan’s, and Ronan… Ronan is already so ready, rocking his hips forward and “God, Parrish, can’t we just…”

But no. They can’t just. Because what would be the fun in just?

Adam vocalizes that last bit. He can’t believe he does it. Because Ronan jerks back, frowning just slightly, and oh, how Adam is beating himself up mentally, now. Oh, Jesus fuck.

Ronan pulls back completely, shaking his head, and Adam is too filled with pure, unadulterated lust to notice the glimmer in Ronan’s eyes.

Adam: “Where are you going?” God, is that really what I sound like?

Ronan: “Don’t worry, Parrish, it’s fine. It’s cool. Really.” Ronan, what the hell are you talking about?

Adam again: “Please, Ronan, I…” What? I what?

And that is when Adam notices the glimmer.

A relieved smile overtakes Adam’s face, honest and happy and carefree. The way Adam’s always wanted to be. The way he only truly feels around… around Ronan.

Ronan surges forward, and their teeth- ow- crash together this time, but neither of them complain because the kisses are like… well. Actually. There’s nothing comparable (not to them, at least).

The Lynch boy, though Adam is the mechanic of the pair, has nimble hands, making quick work of removing Adam’s pants and his heart-print boxers and he can’t even laugh at the boxers because. Well. They’re gone, now. And in their wake…

“Jesus, Parrish,” Ronan mutters, and Adam rolls his eyes, digging his short, bitten nails into Ronan’s hips as sort of a “keep your mouth shut or else” gesture before, hey, Ronan’s pants are down too.

And now Ronan’s running his hands down Adam’s bare thighs, hooking his hand behind Adam’s knee, hitching his leg up and around himself.

Gansey’s voice comes muffled through the door again: “Hurry up, you bunnies, you. Noah needs to piss!”

Which, in their inebriated stupor, causes Adam and Ronan to erupt into giggles.

Adam’s hand finds the back of Ronan’s neck and pulls him in for a laughing kiss, before Ronan slips his hand between their lips and, “Hey, Adam. Hey, for a sec.”

So I’m Adam, now? Not Parrish? Huh. Fancy that.

“What is it, Lynch?” (The juxtaposition was funnier in Adam’s head, admittedly.)

But instead of replying with words, Ronan’s slipped his fingers past Adam’s kiss-swollen lips, and. Oh. Yeah. Good idea.

After having swirled his tongue a bit around Ronan’s unlikely slender fingers for a moment or so, with Ronan’s flushed face downcast in a show of- what, embarrassment? Shyness?-, Ronan withdraws. And this is… getting pretty real, now. Pretty fucking real, Adam would say.

Though once Ronan’s fingers- just the first, but soon the second, and a bit later the third- are, y’know, inside Adam? This is fucking real, he thinks to himself. That was… that was nothing.

Ronan keeps his lips pressed to Adam’s throat, kissing and nipping and being uncharacteristically sweet as he does what he’s pretty sure he’s meant to do in this, ah, situation. And, my oh my, is this quite the situation.

When Adam feels the sudden emptiness that comes with Ronan pulling his hand away, he is surprised. He’d shut his eyes, he’d tilted his head back a bit to expose more of his work-tanned neck. So he didn’t see it coming. Literally. And the surprise causes him to jerk back a bit, and the jerking back a bit causes him to lose his (single) footing, and his loss of footing causes him to teeter and totter and…

Great. Now his foot’s in the (questionably grimy) toilet.

Ronan bursts into laughter, wholehearted and real, and though Adam is disgusted by his soaked boot and sock and pants leg, he can’t help but smile and shake his head and laugh right along. Because Ronan- not even Ronan’s laugh, just Ronan in general- is infectious.

“You fuckin’ dunce,” Ronan gasps between breaths, trying to quell his laughter. But that doesn’t exactly work, because he’s still snickering away, and now so is Adam, and as they laugh Adam draws Ronan close by wrapping his arms around the other’s neck.

“Sorry,” Adam whispers, right into Ronan’s ear, nipping at the lobe and then kissing the pale, soft skin below it. And he adds, “Carry on?”

Ronan’s not sure what he did with that goddamn glow-in-the-dark glittery condom, but soon enough he plucks it from the back pocket of his jeans (though that takes some finagling), and once he’s rolled it on, it’s, well. On.

This is everything Adam never knew he wanted, and everything Ronan’s always dreamed. As Ronan’s pressed himself inside of Adam, the arms around his neck turn into those short, bitten nails being dragged down the Lynch boy’s back. Angry red welts are blooming like those stupid purple tulips Noah and Blue planted in the park and Ronan’s not sure why he thought of those stupid purple tulips, but then Adam tips his head back further and moans, and there. That’s it. He’s really gone and done it now, Parrish has.

Ronan’s hips have a rhythm and he’s not sure where it’s come from; the only viable explanation he can come up with is that this is what they were meant for. This is who they were meant for.

Adam’s a bit overwhelmed, but he’s perfectly okay with that- his nails bite into the small of Ronan’s back, now, urging him closer. Deeper. More. And Ronan gladly obliges.

Ronan’s got a hand pressed flat to the wall of the stall to hold himself up, and he wonders if maybe he could get away with touching Adam as well. But… you know. Better not risk it. They don’t need any more feet going in the toilet today.

“Adam, hey,” he breathes, voice low and raspy and- “Yeah, Ronan?”

“Would you just. Fuck. Would you touch yourself? Please?”

Since Ronan rarely says please, Adam knows that this is dire. So now he’s the one obliging, his right hand releasing Ronan’s back and wrapping around his own length and if only this was Ronan’s hand but of course it can’t logistically be but holy shit would it be nice.

Ronan opens his eyes, glancing down at Adam, and the mere sight of him there, face red and sweaty and his jaw slightly slackened, mouth slightly agape… that, there, is enough.

And of course Ronan’s release doesn’t help Adam hold on much longer, because soon enough he’s the one coming, all over his fist and their stomachs and, well, at least his shirt was already grimy from the questionably grimy floor.

It’s over. It’s over, and neither of them can believe it.

“Ronan,” Adam mumbles, letting his head fall forward, chin dipped against his heaving chest.

“Adam,” Ronan mirrors, pulling out and carelessly tossing the condom into the toilet (take that, douchebag bouncer from earlier). Then, “You okay?”

Adam nods. “I’m okay.”

“Good,” Ronan whispers, pressing a chaste kiss to Adam’s forehead, then his nose, then his cheek. And then he pulls away.

“Now let’s clean up, Parrish.”

When the pair emerge from the bathroom, Gansey, Blue, and Noah are all three leaned up against the wall opposite, all with folded arms across their chests and expressions varying in degrees of bemusement.

Until they actually get a good look at Ronan and Adam, that is.

Gansey notices the bruises that litter Adam’s neck and throat and shoulders, the ones that weren’t there before. And he grins before catching himself, after which he shakes his head and puts on his best stern dad look.

“I hope you kids were safe,” he huffs, before turning and heading towards the exit (though everyone knows he’s laughing inside).

Blue is the one who spies the scratches all up and down Ronan’s back, some oozing crimson, all in groups of four or five. Her eyebrows skyrocket, and her girlish giggles cause both Adam and Ronan to blush. She trots off to follow Gansey.

Noah is the only one left.

“What is it, Noah?” Ronan snarls, cocking an eyebrow, challenging.

But Noah ignores Ronan. He steps towards Adam. Looks him up and down.

“Adam. This is not what I meant by ‘go wild’.”

Adam’s heart hammers a heavy thud in the vicinity of his chest, but then Noah leans in to his good ear and adds, “But I’m glad for you. Truly.”

Noah turns to follow Dick and Jane, but Ronan calls out, having caught Noah’s final words- “What the fuck was that about, ghost boy?!”

And, as Noah peers over his shoulder, comes his answer:

“Oh, nothing! It just means I won the bet!”

 

the end

 

 


End file.
